


My Brand on Your Skin

by Spoodlemonkey



Series: Inktober/Goretober/Kinktober [27]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Come play, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Possessive Behavior, Some mention of Connor being into his bruises, set in current hockey season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 03:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21008936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: The jerseys bigger than his own and he knows what he’s going to find even as he turns it around.He licks his lips, heart hammering in his chest.The familiar material is cool against his skin as he slips it on. The sleeves come down over his hands, the collar hanging loose. The bottom of the jersey hits him mid thigh, the press of his cock against it indecent. Freddie’s name is a brand across his shoulders, his number against his back staking his claim.





	My Brand on Your Skin

**Author's Note:**

> I've been watching hockey for eight hours now and this is what's come of it...  
Unbeta'd so any mistakes are my own! Don't own. Hope you enjoy!

“You look good in red.” 

Connor nearly has a  _ heart attack _ at the quiet voice when he gets into his apartment, late at night. He’s got his fists up, exhausted and sore from his game but ready for a  _ fight, _ when it filters in that he  _ knows _ that voice.

He blinks, processing the sight before him and breaks into a wide grin.

“Fred- what the fuck are you doing here man?” He drops his bag carelessly, kicking the front door shut and crosses the room in a few quick strides.

Freddie’s seated on his couch looking absolutely  _ perfect  _ in a pair of jeans that stretch obscenely across his thighs and a white henley that looks like it’s  _ just _ barely holding on to his wide shoulders. His hair’s gotten so long this season, curling, and just begging Connor to run his fingers through it and mess it up. 

It’s been too long.

Freddie makes to get up but Connor stops him, quickly sliding into his lap, surprising himself with how  _ eager _ he is to be touching Freddie. Big hands land on his hips, tugging him closer and he grins as their lips meet. 

“Wanted to surprise you.” Freddie murmurs in between sweet, lingering kisses. His grip tightens on Connor’s hips and he flushes at the heat that surges through him. Their kisses grow longer, messier until his lips start to feel swollen and sore.

“Consider me surprised.” 

Freddie rolls his eyes. He releases Connor’s hip only to tangle his fingers through his hair, gripping tight and forcing his head back. His lips latch onto Connor’s neck, then his teeth, biting, claiming and yeah ok, Connor’s catching on quick.

“So you didn’t want to watch a movie?” His chirp turns into a gasp as Freddie hits a particularly sweet spot that has him half hard in his dress pants. He rolls his hips forwards against Freddie’s stomach, biting his lip at the sweet pressure. 

“I think you’re talking too much.” Freddie pulls away from his neck, but holds Connor in place with a tight grip on his hair. It stings but only enough that Connor is hyper aware of how easily Freddie can move him where he wants. “You don’t have practice tomorrow, right?”

Connor goes to shake his head and it tugs, sending sharp little sparks of pain across his scalp and he gasps, the feeling hardwired straight to his cock. 

“Use your words.” Freddie teases.

“You just told me I talk too much.” He gasps as Freddie gives another sharp tug. “No, no practice tomorrow.” 

“Good.” Freddie releases his grip abruptly and Connor fists his hands in Freddie’s shirt to steady himself. “Get undressed.” 

Connor flushes, but pushes to his feet. His hips twinge a little from the change in position and his hands shake with anticipation as he hastily undoes his tie, tossing it off to the side. He doesn’t look to see where it’s landed and Freddie doesn’t comment, eyes dark and hooded as he watches Connor work the buttons of his dress shirt with the same intensity usually reserved for the ice. 

His shirt gets a similar treatment. Freddie bites his lip but doesn’t tell him to pick it up and fold it like he normally would when he’s looking to draw it out, when he’s planning on taking his time with Connor, and that speaks to how impatient they both are after too long apart. 

They’ve had to get creative, living in different cities now, but Connor knows guys that have to deal with different  _ countries. _ The distance between Toronto and Ottawa doesn’t seem quite as bad when he thinks about the  _ what ifs. _

Freddie unzips his own jeans when Connor steps out of his dress pants, pulling out his long, thick cock. He palms it, stroking slowly as Connor finally slides his boxers off, left bare in the chill of the apartment. 

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, gaze travelling over Connor like a caress, lingering on his face, the flush running down his chest, his cock, hard and jutting out. Connor keeps his body loose, hands at his sides and looks his fill, mouth watering at the sight of Freddie teasing himself, and Connor in the process. 

“I brought you something.” 

“What?” Connor blinks, the words not filtering through. 

Freddie nods behind him and Connor turns automatically. It takes him a second to spot the familiar blue material folded neatly on his coffee table. 

“Why don’t you put it on?” Freddie suggests calmly, but when Connor sneaks a peak at him he’s running his thumb over the head of his cock where it’s starting to weep. 

Not the kinkiest thing they’ve done by any means, but if Freddie wants Connor back in his Leafs jersey then Connor sure as hell isn’t going to argue. He picks it up, letting it unfold and  _ oh. _ The jerseys bigger than his own and he knows what he’s going to find even as he turns it around. 

He licks his lips, heart hammering in his chest. 

The familiar material is cool against his skin as he slips it on. The sleeves come down over his hands, the collar hanging loose. The bottom of the jersey hits him mid thigh, the press of his cock against it indecent. Freddie’s name is a brand across his shoulders, his number against his back staking his claim.

Freddie’s pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed. He takes his hand off his cock and spreads his thighs further apart.

Every brush of the jersey against the head of his cock is a terrible tease as he sinks to his knees between Freddie’s massive thighs. He has to press himself further into Freddie’s space, carve out a little spot for himself. Freddie doesn’t budge and Connor finds he doesn’t have much movement. He tests the weight of Freddie in his hand, the heat, the familiar thickness. His mouth waters and he licks his lips, glancing up at Freddie only to find him already watching him. 

He smooths one large hand over Connor’s flushed cheek, then around to tangle in his short hair. His grip tightens and he urges Connor forwards until he has no choice but to part his lips, taking Freddie’s cock into his mouth.

Freddie sets the pace with a steady hand on the back of Connor’s head. It’s a smooth, easy rhythm that Connor falls into, relishing in the stretch of his lips around Freddie’s cock, the weight on his tongue, the taste of him. Sweat builds up at his temples; the world is quiet, muffled, tucked safely between Freddie’s thighs. Spit dribbles down his chin- Freddie isn’t small by any means, stretching Connor’s mouth obscenely. Freddie keeps to short, smooth movements that Connor can fall into. It’s easy to let his mouth be used when he knows he can trust Freddie not to push him too far, easy to drift and soak up the pleasure. 

“Ready to take more?” Freddie’s grip tightens a little. His tone is even but there’s a roughness to his voice that sends shivers along Connor’s spine. 

He hums and Freddie sucks in a sharp breath.

“You look good like this,” he murmurs, his grip steady as he pushes Connor’s mouth further down on his cock. Connor gags as it bumps the back of his throat and Freddie lets him up to breathe. He presses his forehead to Freddie’s thigh, feeling the scratch of the denim and just focusing on breathing. 

“Red’s a good look for you,” Freddie continues and his grip loosens, strokes gently through Connor’s hair, scratching at his scalp. It turns his spine to liquid. He turns his face, careful not to dislodge Freddie’s hand, and nuzzles along his cock. “But I like you wearing my name.” 

Connor whines, mouthing at the head of his cock, the taste of precome bitter on his tongue.

“You like it too, don’t you Connor?” Freddie tugs him off his cock, gives him a little shake. “You want everyone to know who you belong to, right?” 

Connor nods helplessly. 

“Up on the couch, hands on the back.” Freddie lets go and Connor scrambles to his feet on unsteady legs. His knees ache but he ignores it, kneeling on the cushions. He grips the back of the couch, fingers digging into the leather. His cock brushes against it and he hisses, hips rocking before he can stop himself.

The crack of Freddie’s hand echoes through the apartment before the bloom of heat and pain registers. He freezes. 

“Don’t move.” 

Connor’s going to have a perfect handprint on his thigh. 

He stares down at the dark leather, hyper aware of the sounds behind him- the rustle of clothing, the click of a cap. He jerks, startled, as a big hand rests on his hip but Freddie shushes him. He presses close, a long line of heat against his back and Connor twists his head as best he can to meet him in a messy, hot kiss. 

Freddie pulls back, pressing a lingering kiss to his neck, and then there are slick fingers pressing between his cheeks. Connor takes two easily enough, he’s got enough toys and his own hands to make late night calls with Freddie  _ really _ interesting, but he relishes the stretch. Freddie’s fingers are thicker than his own, reach deeper than his do. He groans, head falling forwards as Freddie expertly stretches him, the pads of his fingers teasing his prostate. The front of the jersey is quickly soaking through from the press of his cock. He has to dig his fingers into the couch to keep himself from reaching down, curling a hand around himself and ending this a whole lot faster. 

“You’re gorgeous.” Freddie presses a kiss to the bare skin of his shoulder, where the collar of the jersey has slipped down. He pulls his fingers free, adding more lube, and Connor doesn’t have long to feel achingly  _ empty _ before he slides a third finger in and Connor groans, loud and startling in the quiet. 

The sounds of their breathing fills his ear. He rolls his hips back, feeling heat building in his gut, his cock impossibly hard. 

“Fred.” He grits out and Freddie immediately stills his hand. He carefully pulls his fingers free, giving Connor a moment to catch his breath. He hates the empty feeling he’s left with though, hole clenching around nothing and this desperate need to be  _ full. _

Freddie never leaves him waiting long. He pushes the jersey up Connor’s back, tugging his hips until he’s bent forwards, ass up, clinging to the back of the couch. There’s the familiar pressure as the blunt head of Freddie’s cock presses against his hole and then he slides in, in one smooth thrust.

Connor’s breath catches in his chest as Freddie bottoms out. 

God, he feels thick and impossibly  _ huge. _

Freddie’s hands land on his hips, tugging him somehow even closer until his ass is pressed flush against Freddie. It knocks a moan out of him and Freddie takes it as the permission it is, starting a brutal pace. 

It’s all Connor can do to hold on, fingernails scratching at the leather, desperate for a handhold as Freddie fucks into him hard and fast. His cock rubs up against the jersey and the couch as he’s pushed forwards, Freddie’s cock lighting him up from the inside. He’s having trouble catching a breath, moans caught in his throat. Freddie lets out little grunts, fingers tight on Connor’s hips. Days from now he’ll still have the bruises, be able to touch them and remember this, how Freddie felt fucking him, carving out a space for himself inside Connor, when Freddie’s back in Toronto. 

They’re losing their rhythm, Freddie pressing close and grinding his cock in deep, hips stuttering as he chases his release. He presses his forehead against Connor’s back.

“Touch yourself.” 

Connor can’t quite get his fingers to uncurl from the cushion, knees sliding against the slick leather. His fingers are sore but he pushes it aside, gets a hand on his cock and nearly sobs at how good it feels. His cock is slick with precome and he fucks his hand as Freddie shudders and comes. Warmth blossoms in him as Freddie grinds his cock in, filling him up, pressed so tightly against Connor that he isn’t sure where he ends and Freddie begins.

“Fred.” Connor grunts.  _ “Freddie.” _

He isn’t sure what he’s asking for, what he’s pleading for. All he knows is he’s desperate to come. 

Blunt teeth sink into the bare skin of his neck, marking him up. One of Freddie’s big hands closes around his, squeezing tight and Connor comes with a shout. Freddie milks him through it, lets him spill all over their joined hands, the jersey, the couch. He spreads Connor’s come over his cock, keeps the grip slick as Connor shudders, the sensation going from blissful to too much quickly.

Freddie lets up before it becomes too much, pressing kisses along the long stretch of Connor’s neck before he gently eases his cock out. Connor grimaces at the feel of Freddie’s come leaking out, clenching to try and keep it inside. A finger rubs over his hole and he shudders, little sparks of pleasure shooting up his spine, even as he can’t keep closed. Freddie slides a finger in, gentle as he checks Connor over, pressing his own come back in. He shivers.

Connor slumps against the back of the couch. It’s slick against his skin from sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead. 

“You alright?” He can’t see Freddie’s little smirk but he can  _ hear  _ it. He sounds pretty damn satisfied with himself.

“I think you killed me.” Connor mumbles. Freddie  _ might _ have reason to sound so smug. His eyes have slid shut and the sweat and come are quickly cooling on his skin, itchy and uncomfortable. 

The jersey is pretty damn gross. 

He kind of loves it.

“Come on.” Freddie tugs him easily to his feet, supporting his weight as they stumble towards the bathroom. The heat from the shower is blissful and he finds himself drifting, leaning against Freddie’s chest as it seeps into his sore muscles. 

Freddie works talented fingers through his hair, soaping him up, careful where his scalp is tender. 

They dry off and tumble into bed without bothering with clothes. The room is a little cool but Connor’s duvet is thick and warms them up quickly. Connor tucks himself against Freddie, tangles their legs together as his arms wind around Connor.

“When do you have to be back?” He manages to pull a few brain cells together, feeling pleasantly come drunk and flying high. 

“Two days.” Freddie presses a kiss to his temple. Connor hides his smile against Freddie’s chest. “Enough time for you to get tired of me.”

Connor laughs, leaning in for a sweet, sleepy kiss. “I dunno, I think I can stand your face that long.” 

He deserves the swat he receives for that.


End file.
